


Goodnight, Sweet Prince

by owleys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Inspired by Hamlet, M!Byleth - Freeform, M/M, also its mostly not too gory but there is ONE paragraph that is kind of YIKES, boar prince tings i guess, byleth is horatio, dedue is dedue because we love him, dimitri is hamlet, felix is laertes, im fucking sad :(, yall know how this shit ends, yeah so like hamratio but dimileth basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26645320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owleys/pseuds/owleys
Summary: Dimitri left the Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy a year earlier to reclaim the throne of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus from his uncle Rufus. He didn’t think he would ever see Byleth again.That is, until he turned up five years later, talking about seeing the ghost of deceased King Lambert.Dimitri must reclaim the honour of the Blaiddyd family, regardless of whether handsome colleagues from Garreg Mach turn up in the middle of the night.After all, it is his duty as prince and future king.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Goodnight, Sweet Prince

It had been five years since Dimitri had last seen Byleth.

Five years since he’d left the Officers Academy. 

Dimitri had closed all doors on Garreg Mach five years ago when he had turned seventeen, one year from being eligible to lay a claim to the throne of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. It took four years for Dimitri to arrive at the cold, dusty castle in Fhirdiad.

Those years were spent travelling the kingdom, reconnecting with nobles and peasants alike. He knew that the throne would not be returned to him easily, so he garnered their support with promises of reform and smiles that radiated kindness and charm. Soon, the people of Faerghus began to whisper of the return of the rightful king, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. They murmured of change. Dimitri would ensure an age of peace; it was what his father would have wanted. It was his duty.

Four years after he left Garreg Mach, Dimitri was twenty one. This was his true, triumphant return to the court of Fhirdiad, and yet he was peering through a gap in the doors into the grand hall, feeling like a child once again. Outside, the snow was a blur of grey clouding the midday sun.

The courtiers milled about the mirrored space, chandelier light refracting on thousands of glittering ornaments and gold threads woven into clothing. At the far end, on the throne, lounged Rufus, former Grand Duke of Itha and current king. A goblet of wine clutched in one hand, with the other lying on the waist of the women beside him. The Court Mage of Fhirdiad, Cornelia, stood slightly behind his right shoulder, her hand glinting with jewellery as it rested lightly on his majesty’s hand.

Dimitri, eyeing the pair, smoothed his hair. “Do you think I can do it, Dedue?”

The Duscur man nodded firmly. “Of course, your highness. It is rightfully your throne after all.”

Dimitri gulped, a sudden swoop of affection for his best friend seizing his heart and soaring away with it. He turned to him with a soft smile. “Thank you. For everything.” This was the man who had cared for him when grief buried him at his lowest, the boy who he had grown up with, and the man accompanied him from Garreg Mach, leaving behind any opportunity to do better for himself. Dimitri truly did not deserve a friend so loyal. “And call me Dimitri, please,” he added, just for old times sake.

A rare grin lit Dedue’s face. “Alright, your highness. Now go, seize your destiny. I will be right there with you.”

As much as he loved him, it was strange to only have Dedue with him. Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid were attending to their own territories. Dimitri knew he had their support and affections though, regardless of whether they were here with him or not.

Heads turned as he threw open the doors and strode into the hall. The chatter had dissipated by the time Dimitri and Dedue reached the centre of the room. “My noble people. I, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, sole son of Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, have returned to reclaim my throne. It is my duty, for the honour of my father.”

King Rufus stood. “My uncle,” Dimitri said with a flourish and bow. “If you would be so kind.”

“Dimitri. Should you not be at school?”

Dimitri threw a glance at Dedue, and saw his own confusion mirrored. “I am twenty one, uncle. It is my throne that you now occupy.”

Rufus began to descend the steps, Court Mage Cornelia’s arm threaded through his. “When I heard that you were gallivanting the countryside with your merry band of friends, I was shocked. My dear noble nephew, abandoning his education for what? A reckless trip with the nobility of this court?”

Dimitri’s words were piling up in his throat, clogging his airway. “You would be wrong, uncle. I was—”

“—acting irresponsibly, flaunting everything that noble children should not do, should know better than to do? And now, you waltz into my castle when you should be studying in school, to petulantly lay claim to a throne that does not belong to you?”

Rufus stopped in front of him, and though Dimitri towered over him in height, he felt as small and panicked as a trapped mouse. “Your majesty,” Dedue murmured from behind Dimitri. “If I may, his highness has been gaining the support of—”

“Quiet, Duscur scum!” Rufus snapped. The crowd of courtiers titttered and tinkled, pretty birds parroting their king. He whirled back to Dimitri. “And to associate with their kind! You know they were responsible for the death of your father.” 

“You may not speak of him!” Dimitri snarled. “He is not the one that killed my father, nor should those of his creed be held responsible for the actions of a few.”

Rufus tutted as if Dimitri was a mere child. “I am sending you back to the Academy right away. Guards!” Rufus gestured them over. “Take my young nephew to a guest suite while I sort out his mess.”

“Uncle, I must protest! That is my throne and you know it. You all”—Dimitri turned to face the courtiers—“know it!”

He saw Rodrigue in the crowd, and held his gaze, pleading for him to say something. Surely he would say something; they had been so close, and he had been his father’s right-hand man. Rodrigue stared back at him for a moment, and then looked down and away from Dimitri.

“Go, insolent boy, before I am forced to make them drag you away!”

Dimitri set his jaw and turned on his heel, his heavy fur cape snapping on the tiled floor. As the doors slammed behind him, he heard conversation return to normal, except now it was offset with the quiet hum of humiliation and the disappointed thunder of Dimitri’s heart.

*

The snow stung Dimitri’s skin as he occupied a seat in the gardens. It was a cold night, but the rage burning inside him was enough to keep it at bay. A year had passed since his return to Fhirdiad, and his uncle still warmed the throne while Dimitri wore down this bench. The treacherous simpleton had realised that Dimitri was far too old to return to the Academy, and relegated him to life in the castle.

Thankfully, the Faerghus Four had reformed, somewhat. They still had their duties to attend to, as dukes of their own territories. Dimitri, meanwhile, was allowed to slowly wither within these cold walls.

Rodrigue rarely spoke to him, and when he did, it was polite, distant conversation. Dedue had begun life anew as a castle guard. Dimitri had nothing, no one.

“Your highness, there is a visitor for you.” Dimitri looked up, an instinctual glower already set on his face. The pageboy balked, his throat bobbing as he gulped.

“Alright. You are dismissed.”

The boy nodded as if his neck had been loosened far too much and bolted, with one fearful glance over his shoulder. 

Dimitri returned to glaring at the icy ground. Who would it be today, a courtier who wished to make fun of him, or a peasant who wanted to confirm the ghost stories that had been made of him? Maybe it would be both, at the same time.

“Hello, Dimitri.”

He inhaled sharply at the voice, warm and smooth and hurtful all at once. A glance showed Dimitri a face that he had not seen in years, apart from within in his dreams or his deepest memories. Green eyes staring him down, sucking him into their gravity from across a room, a city, a continent.

Byleth Eisner. He had found him.

Dimitri stood. “I—I am glad to see you well, dear friend.” He couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice. 

“As I am of you,” he said softly.

They stared at each other for what seemed a hundred heavy thuds of Dimitri’s heart. He studied Byleth’s face as if it were the holy texts of Seiros, memorising this line and that curve, comparing it to the one that had lived inside his mind for five years.

“I have seen your father,” said Byleth suddenly. “I came to see you late yesternight, and on the battlements I saw him.”

Dimitri blinked. He desperately wanted to ask why he had come to see him now, but there were more pressing matters. “Are you sure it was him?”

“I swear on Seiros, it was he: the spitting image of you, armoured from top to toe and carrying your lance, Areadbhar.”

In the distance, a bell began to strike the hour. Twelve clangs echoed across the castle grounds. “He has been sighted for the past two nights, the guards expect him to be here tonight as well. They asked me to take you to him, so you may ask him to leave.”

A swirl of emotions were struggling within Dimitri. Byleth’s sudden appearance was enough to set it off, but this mysterious reappearance of his father’s spirit was even more unsettling. He inhaled deeply, and said, with his heart in his throat, “Lead, and I will follow.”

The wind whirled stronger up there, howling around corners and into windows. Snow had become sleet, and it pelted them painfully. The walk had been silent, though Dimitri had much he wanted to say to him. 

“Dedue!” Dimitri called as he saw him, tall and white-haired. “How goes you?”

“Byleth found me, and told me to meet him here. He said he would bring you.” He smiled at Dimitri. “How are you faring, your highness?”

Dimitri opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Byleth. “There it goes!”

Dimitri turned to where he pointed, and gasped sharply. It was, indeed, his father. The sight was enough to make tears well in his eyes. “My father, my king,” he called, voice wobbling. “You have burst from the coffin we buried you in. The earth has opened its jaws and you have walked out. Why is this? Why?”

His father stared, blue eyes impaling him and holding him in place. With one armoured hand, he beckoned for Dimitri to come forward.

“Don’t, your highness!” Dedue exclaimed. “Ghosts mean only bad omens.”

Dimitri eyed him, saw the worry clear on his face. “It will not speak. I must.” He strode forward before either of them could stop him. “I will listen,” he told the ghost of his father.

With unblinking eyes, it regarded him. Then with a voice of cracking ice, of wind stirring bare branches, of blizzards howling, the ghost spoke. “Listen you will, and you will avenge me, for I have been murdered. Murder most foul, strange, and unnatural.”

Dimitri nodded. “That, I know. Tell me who was responsible, so at last you may be at peace.”

“The man that killed your father now sits on his throne.” And with this proclamation, the ghost released a sigh that made the howling wind seem like a whistle, so unearthly was the sound. “Remember me!” the ghost wailed. “And swear! Swear to avenge me!”

Dimitri let the roaring gale seize at his hair, pummel his face. “I swear! Rest easy, father, for I will avenge you.”

With one last sigh, the wind stopped. Above, the moon was cleared of her cold curtain, and watched with a single silver eye.

“You must tell no one,” Dimitri said, turning back to Byleth and Dedue.

“Your highness, are you sure you should listen to this spirit?” Dedue said softly. “It may be a trick.”

“I agree, you must tread carefully, Dimitri,” said Byleth, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Though, it would make sense if your uncle was responsible.”

“Curse that I was ever born to make this right!” Dimitri swore. “I will have to make sure that what the ghost spoke of was the truth. Or whether it truly is just a bad omen.” He ran a hand through his windswept hair, glowering. “Let us return. It is late. And I have much to think about.”

In the hazy moonlight, the three made their way back into the castle. Somewhere nearby, someone was cackling, the noise snuffled by snowfall. A flicker of movement and the unmistakable glint of jewellery in the window above the battlements went unnoticed. 

*

It was a clear night several days after the ghost sighting. In Dimitri’s chambers, lit only by moonlight, Dimitri threw his head back and laughed.

“It is true, it is true!” Dimitri cried, still laughing madly. Byleth watched, gaze impassive. Dimitri clutched his shoulders. “You saw his face, did you not? That damned ghost was right.” He laughed again, head thrown back.

“Dimitri, have you been drinking?” Byleth’s voice was level, maybe too level. Dimitri couldn’t be sure, his head was spinning and it was difficult to think straight.

“O’ course not,” he slurred. “I may not have been drinking, but I have been thinking!” He giggled at the rhyme. “Help me kill him, won’t you?”

“Now why would I do that.” Byleth had crossed his arms. 

“Because there is so much love for me hidden behind that silly stoic face.” Dimitri clung to Byleth’s slender shoulders and wrapped him in a bear-hug. “The play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king,” he sang softly. 

Byleth struggled against his grip, but they both knew Dimitri was the stronger of the two. “Dimitri, you are quite mad.” His voice was muffled in the furred cape, but the thawing of his seriousness was not lost.

“As are you. Aren’t we all quite mad at the end of the day?” He sat back though, and slipped the offending flask out of his trousers. Before he could take another sip, Byleth seized it. Upending it, he drank all of it before Dimitri could even protest. 

“Tha’was mine,” he said with a pout as Byleth coughed.

“Upon the Goddess, what is this?” he wheezed, still hacking. “Why do you drink this?” His eyes were screwed shut and he looked to be in utter pain. Dimitri laughed, slapping the cold tiles that they sat upon.

“Didn’t I say I would teach you to drink deep?” he snickered.

They both lay back, Byleth’s hair tickling Dimitri’s chin as he rested his head on his chest. “You don’t have to kill him,” Byleth murmured. “Come with me, leave all of this behind. You can teach at Garreg Mach with me, or we could explore the world together. We could do anything.”

Dimitri absently began to play with Byleth’s hair, twirling it over his fingers and tangling his hands in it. “This is my birthright. It is my duty.” He wanted to say more. About the nightmares, the voices that called on him, spat on his name, their death cries echoing in his head. It was his duty to avenge them all.

“Forget duty!” Byleth sat up, turning to face him and in the process, dislodging Dimitri’s hands from his hair. His eyes were shining in the moonlight. “It could just be you and me, Dimitri. You and me.”

Dimitri stared at him, so close, the breath frozen in his lungs. “I missed your old eyes when you changed,” he whispered. “But in my dreams you always have these green eyes. They glow. You glow. You are so brilliant.”

He placed a hand on Byleth’s cheek. Byleth reached up to stroke his hand with his own slender fingers. “Your hands, these hands that have saved me countless times…Thank you, my beloved. Your kind, warm hands—may they cling to my own forevermore.” The words tumbled out of Dimitri’s mouth, buoyed by their shared breaths in the tiny space separating them. 

He saw Byleth’s eyes turn glassy before he quickly buried his face in the crook of Dimitri’s neck. “My sweet prince,” he mumbled. “I am glad I found you.”

They stayed like that until Dimitri fell into a drunken sleep. Unbeknownst to him, Byleth quietly disentangled himself from his arms in the early hours of dawn and laid a blanket over him, tucking it under his chin. As he stared down at the sleeping prince’s face, Byleth planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Then, he left, with a last glance back at the man he loved.

*

Dimitri ate his evening meal in the dining hall, seated quite far down from his uncle. It was an insult to say the least, but Dimitri did not mind it—it meant Dedue and Byleth could accompany him.

As they dined, Dimitri tried not to think of his leg pressed against Byleth’s. He seemed to hear this thought, because they both shared a glance at the same time. Dimitri felt an irrepressible smile come to his face, as Byleth grinned back at him.

Someone cleared his throat. Dimitri looked up to see Rodrigue. “My dear friend, how goes you?” he said, rising to face him.

“I am well, thank you, son.” He smiled, then seemed to remember himself. “The Court Mage would speak with you.”

Dimitri caught Byleth and Dedue’s eyes. Be careful, they both seemed to be telling him. “Thank you, Rodrigue. I will take my leave.”

Cornelia met him at the door to her chambers. “Ah, welcome my dear Dimitri.” Her voice was honeyed, sticky and cloying in its overwhelming friendliness. She led him inside, and gestured for him to sit. He did not.

“Now, you know you have very much upset your uncle, don’t you?” She peered at him like one would a child they were scolding. Dimitri was reminded of why he disliked this woman.

“I beg your pardon, my lady. I don’t understand.” He did his best to feign ignorance; he did not know how close she was to his uncle, or how much she would tell him.

“That silly little play you put on. I know you have some foolish delusions about the person, or should I say persons, responsible for murdering your father, but—”

Dimitri drew his sword. “Now where did you hear that?” he snarled. 

Cornelia laughed, holding a hand in front of her mouth. “What are you going to do with that needle, boy? Do not forget that I am Court Mage, not a simpleton.”

“Don’t call me boy,” he snapped.

She laughed again and began to circle him. He shuffled to follow her, sword pointed at her chest. “If you mean to kill me, then I would encourage you to do it now. Before your uncle behind that tapestry there decides to act.” She hissed this quietly, and then slapped Dimitri across the face. It was shocking enough to make him cry out.

“What?” came a voice from behind the tapestry. “You—”

Dimitri knew it was time. He thrust his sword through the tapestry, all the way to the hilt. Heard the man behind it cry out in pain. Dimitri tore the curtain aside, a manic glee rising in his throat, and saw—

“Rodrigue!” The cry was torn from his throat. He fell to his knees beside the dying man, sword forgotten at his side. Pressing his hands to the spurting wound in Rodrigue’s chest, he whispered, “Oh, I am sorry.” He whirled to see Cornelia standing, a leering smile distorting her features. “Get help! What are you doing!”

“Dimitri…” Rodrigue wheezed, and he turned to face him, to cup his cold face in his hands. “I loved you as a father loves his sons. Please, look after Felix. Tell him—him…I love h…”

He groaned, took one last crackling breath, and was still. Dimitri closed his eyes with a shaking hand. With a horrible sinking feeling, he realised he had been tricked. 

He turned and rose to his feet, sword hilt fitted comfortably into his hand once again. “You conniving, two-faced—” 

“This trifling fool didn’t think I would know he was here. He knew a game was afoot, but he knew little about it. I wouldn’t just kill you in my very own chambers, how much of an idiot did he think I could be? No, I have grander plans for you, my boy.

“Now, go. I won’t tell anyone of your murder if you hide the body well enough.” She gave him a simpering smile. She knew he knew that she was lying, but what else could he do? Rodrigue deserved a proper burial. 

Cornelia gestured to the door. “I have already dismissed the guards.”

Dimitri picked up Rodrigue’s limp body, tears blurring his vision. “I will see you very soon, Dimitri,” Cornelia said as she followed him to the door.

Dimitri slammed the door on her smiling face.

He told no one of what he’d done. Not even Byleth when he asked what the meeting had been about. He spent the next few days in a state of constant paranoia and unspeakable grief. He had killed Rodrigue, his father’s right hand man and the man he had come to view as a surrogate father. Oh, the Goddess could smite him right then.

He paced the gardens outside the great hall of the castle. The snow was beginning to thaw, revealing patches of brown grass here and there. A few green leaves were sprouting from the black branches as a bird twittered about.

“Why am I here?” he asked the sunny sky. “Is it noble to suffer so, when I could just end it?” He drew his sword, now cleaned of the blood of Rodrigue, and stared at his reflection in it. He had buried him right here, beneath this tree. It would have been his wish, to be buried amongst nature.

“Will I be able to kill my uncle, I wonder, now that I have killed Rodrigue,” he murmured to himself. “Goddess, please forgive me. I must carry out my duty.”

“Dimitri?” Byleth called from the balcony only a metre or so above the ground. He froze. “What are you doing with your sword?”

“I am…contemplating what I must do.” He felt, suddenly, like his hands were still covered in Rodrigue’s blood. Dimitri returned his sword to its sheath and tried to hide his hands behind his back casually. “What are you doing here?” he asked, sidling up to the balcony and staring up at Byleth.

“Looking for you. Felix has arrived from the Fraldarius territory, and he’s shouting of murder.”

Felix was livid. He had obviously not finished grieving. His eyes were bloodshot, hair messy, and skin pallid. When Dimitri arrived, his lips curled into a snarl. “So, the boar prince arrives.”

The base of Dimitri’s lance thudded as it hit the floor. He had retrieved Areadbhar from his rooms on the way here, to Byleth’s confusion. “Just tell me what’s happening,” he’d begged. “Please, I can help you.” Dimitri had not told him, and the look Byleth had given him had made his heart shrink inside him.

“What are you doing here, Felix?” he asked calmly.

“You know why I’m here,” Felix spat. “I already knew you were a murderer, but to kill my father? The man you considered a father too? The one who took you in and treated you like a son?” He laughed darkly. “You are despicable for murdering him.”

Dimitri quelled the bile rising in his throat. How did he know? This was all moving much too fast for him, and he felt like a pawn in some higher game, knowing nothing apart from the little he did.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he told him carefully. A small crowd had gathered, and they pulsed back as Felix began to circle Dimitri.

“I would kill you now, but this ridiculous court has its rules.” He drew his sword with a practised flourish. “So, I, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, challenge you to a duel.”

Dimitri ducked under Felix’s sword to seize his shoulder. “Felix, I can explain. Just put down your sword, don’t do this—”

“What goes on here?” Rufus’ voice echoed over the crowd, and the assembled people turned to him like flowers to their glorious sun. “Felix, my boy! What brings you to Fhirdiad?”

Dimitri glared as he made his way towards them, courtiers parting like water. Felix shoved him away with a disgusted scoff. “I wish to challenge your nephew to a duel. He has murdered my father.”

Rufus raised his eyebrows, and Cornelia spoke out from beside him. “Well, why don’t we make some bets then? I will wager for Felix.”

“And I for Dimitri,” Rufus said, giving Dimitri a cryptic look. 

Cornelia turned and walked toward the throne. “Now come, select your rapiers.”

“I wish to fight with my lance,” Dimitri said at the same time as Felix protested similarly.

She tutted. “Now, boys, that wouldn’t be fair would it? Choose one from this rack, Dimitri, and Felix you can choose one from here.” She winked at Dimitri, eliciting a disgusted scowl from him.

He couldn’t win this if they were fighting with swords. Felix had always been the better swordsman, though he lacked in leadership skills and tactical action. It was what they had clashed about most during their schooling five years ago; Felix refused to work with other people, always doing whatever he thought was best.

Thinking about the Academy saddened Dimitri a bit. While he and Felix were not always on the best of terms, they had still been friends somewhat. Or that was what Dimitri had believed anyway.

“Dimitri, what are you doing?” Byleth appeared beside him. “You don't have to do this. He’ll kill you.”

“This is my duty,” he said softly, pushing past him to the rack of swords. “Please, if I must die, let me die in peace.”

“Do you hear yourself, Dimitri? ‘Die in peace?’ Come with me! We can be free of this.”

When Dimitri finally met Byleth’s eyes, they were filled with tears. “I can't.”

The tears spilled free, rolling in a shining trail down his cheeks. “I came to find you as soon as I woke up, did you know that? Comatose for five years and my first thought was of you. Yet all you know is duty, and honour, and death.” He blinked hard and rubbed at his cheeks. “If you live, don't expect me to be waiting.”

He stormed away. Dimitri did not watch him leave. He turned towards the rack and tested several rapiers, trying to distract his trembling hands. 

When both he and Felix were ready, Cornelia announced the rules. “They will fence. Winner will be the first to three hits. This is not a duel to the death, but the punishment”—she smiled wolfishly—“will be banishment.” Dimitri inhaled a juddering breath at that.

Dimitri and Felix circled each other, sizing one another up. What Dimitri had in brute strength, Felix had tenfold in dexterity. The strength that would save Dimitri in a battlefield achieved nothing in a sport based on speed.

“You may begin,” said Cornelia with a flourish.

“I'm sorry, Felix, if it means anything,” Dimitri called quickly. “I think I am going quite mad.”

Felix scoffed. “You've been mad for at least a decade, boar.”

“I killed him in haste. It was an accident, I believed he was someone else.” Dimitri was pleading with him, begging him to understand.

“Don’t insult me with pathetic excuses.”

“He told me to tell you he loves you. We are brothers in that regard, at least.” He said this with a sad little smile, not even sure if he believed it himself.

Felix’s face contorted with rage. “We are not brothers in any regard!” 

He lunged forward, and Dimitri barely dodged. The blade whispered past his chest, a flurry of air rushing past. In retaliation, he swung back. Felix jumped out of the way. Dimitri switched directions in the middle of his swing. Felix had dodged on one side. Dodged right into the edge of Dimitri’s blade on his other side.

“Hit!” Cornelia called. She smiled on Dimitri like he was a prized stallion. “A point to Blaiddyd.”

“I'm sorry, Felix,” Dimitri said again, not sure whether this was an apology for the shallow cut in his arm or the murder of their common father-figure. 

Felix did not reply as he bandaged his arm. 

“Dimitri, here is a toast to your health!” Rufus held out a glass of wine to Dimitri, keeping another for himself.

Dimitri shook his head, hair slick with sweat falling into his eyes. “No thank you, uncle. Let me play the next round first.” He didn't add that he did not trust anything his uncle served to him, for the fear that he would die of alleged mysterious circumstances.

“Begin!” Cornelia called.

This time, neither of the men said anything. Felix glared, his brown eyes narrowed. All Dimitri could hear was his own rasping breaths, and the thunderous roar of his heart.

He would not give Felix the advantage this time. Dimitri charged forward first, thrusting savagely at Felix. His eyes widened as he threw himself to the left. But it was too late. Dimitri had, somehow, grazed his shoulder.

“Another hit!” Cornelia had descended the steps of the dais and patted Dimitri on the back. “Two points for Blaiddyd now.”

“I drink to your good luck, my boy,” Rufus said. He lifted his goblet and drained it. Meanwhile, Cornelia’s smile widened at the edges, making her look manic with glee. “Begin again.”

“Another then, Dimitri. I will end you yet.” Felix gave him a vicious smile.

“For all you said about me being a bloodthirsty boar prince, you seem all the more violent,” Dimitri countered teasingly, forgetting himself for a moment—forgetting they were duelling for the murder of Rodrigue. Forgetting they were duelling for banishment, for honour.

“Enough dallying, now fight me,” Felix snapped. He lunged.

Dimitri stepped out of the way of Felix’s lunge, wind tearing at his hair. He countered with his own charge, which was similarly dodged. They danced back and forth, attack and counterattack. Sweat beaded on Dimitri’s forehead. His hair fell in his eyes.

Felix let out an angry cry, and kicked Dimitri in the chest. He toppled. Air knocked out of his lungs as his back hit the tiles.

Landing on top of him, a knee to his chest, Felix held the blade against his neck. “Concede, boar. Or I will kill you.”

He knew, then, that Dimitri could not. Conceding in a duel like this was the ultimate shame. He knew, and he was testing him, and yet Dimitri hesitated. He considered it for a moment.

“No, I shall not,” he spat, and used all of his strength to grapple Felix’s rapier out of his hand. They wrestled on the floor, weapons forgotten, punching and scratching at one another. Remembering himself, Dimitri clawed for a rapier.

At once, they both scrambled for their blades. Felix snatched one off the ground and landed a deep cut across Dimitri’s back. He shouted in pain, wrenching Felix’s rapier out of his hand and stabbing him in the chest. It was not a fatal wound; in fact, it was barely a wound at all. Yet, Felix fell to his knees, his eyes rolling wildly.

“The blade! Dimitri, it was that witch—” With dying hands, he pointed at Cornelia. “Dimitri, I have forgiven you. We die as brothers, and as friends.”

Felix stilled, a small smile still lighting his face, rapier still clutched tightly in his fingers. Dimitri’s heart shuddered at the sight of his friend, dead.

Rufus had jolted to his feet. “Treachery, oh treachery! Whoever was responsible shall—” He was cut off by a gurgling moan—his own. “The drink! I am poisoned!”

He collapsed, body rolling limply down the stairs of the dais, past Cornelia. She stood stock still, a frenzied grin stretching her face. Dimitri knew at that moment who his true enemy was.

“You!” he snarled. “The ghost, my uncle! It was all a lie. You are responsible!”

Cornelia began to cackle madly. Courtiers were scrambling for exits, screaming shrilly. The vivid red of blood mingled with the overwhelming gold of the room. The room had already smelled of the rot of the rich, now it was heavy with the scent of death.

“Fight me, little boy. Maybe I will finally be the one to snuff your silly little life.”

Dimitri barrelled towards her, swinging his poison blade. His legs buckled suddenly, muscles spasming. He fell to his knees, jarring his wrists on the stairs. The damned poison, he thought to himself, unable to get up.

The sound of Cornelia’s footsteps faded in and out of his hearing. She snatched his chin and jerked his face up. In her hand she held a knife. 

“I will enjoy this,” she hissed. “An eye for an eye. Tell me, how many have you killed over the years? For what, for duty?” She laughed. “Pathetic. I kill for power.”

Then, she plunged the knife into his right eye socket. 

He remembered hearing the screams, and realising it was him. They dissipated, became hoarse whimpers as he cradled his face. The spot where his right eye had been throbbed horribly.

He couldn't tell if it was blood or tears coursing down his face.

Cornelia gloated above him, her face red-tinged and swimming in and out of focus. “What's wrong, princeling? Are you dying? Unable to fulfil your duty to your father?” She spat on him, laughing maniacally. The thought filled him with horror. He would die, his father unavenged. Goddess, give me strength, he prayed. 

“You will die,” he muttered, fingers scrabbling for the blade he knew had fallen just out of reach of his right hand. “And I will have fulfilled my duty!”

He lunged upwards, the blade now in his hands driven into Cornelia’s chest with a wet scrape. He kept pushing, until the tip of the rapier pierced the back of her dress. She groaned, and fell.

Snatching the goblet meant for himself, Dimitri grabbed her chin and sloshed some of the poisoned wine into her mouth. She gurgled, fingers scratching weakly at the rapier that impaled her. “Die!” Dimitri roared, slamming the blade hilt deep.

With a final jolt, she lay still.

His duty finally achieved, honour salvaged, Dimitri staggered down the dais. Stumbling, he reached the door, and found that his fingers failed him. Dropping the goblet he was still holding, he collapsed against the wood.

“Byleth!” He thumped uselessly on the door. “Byleth, please, come back.”

He slid to his knees, fell on his side. He was truly dying now, vision dimming. He was miserable and pathetic and truly, terribly sorry. Everything had fallen apart.

Somewhere far away, he registered the creak of a door. Then his head was being cradled in warm hands, a warm lap. Above him, Byleth’s green eyes drew him back to the world, if only for a moment or two.

“Lead, and I will follow,” Byleth murmured, reaching past Dimitri for something. He saw the goblet in Byleth’s hand, and found the unnatural strength to wrest it from his grip. He licked away the rest of the poison, cup upended.

“Fool,” he tried to say, though it came out more as a whisper. “You cannot die. I love you, Byleth, more than I loved my duties and honours.” He took a gasping, hacking breath. “I am sorry that we could not see the world together in the end.”

Byleth was crying, his tears hot as they dripped onto Dimitri’s cooling skin. A cannon fired in the distance. “Edelgard and her armies arrive. But the others will be there to meet her, thanks to you. You did well, my prince. Your honour has been restored tenfold.”

And then Byleth began to sob. Frantically, Dimitri began to ramble, “Tell me, is Dedue safe? Tell the others I am sorry to be unable to accompany them.” Byleth reassured him that he was, and that he would.

“I am dying,” Dimitri murmured. “And yet I have never kissed you.” He cradled Byleth’s face with his cold, cold hands, only growing colder by the second.

“Then kiss me, and let me lick the poison from your lips!” Byleth cried.

Dimitri tugged Byleth’s face towards him, and kissed his forehead. He kissed his nose, and each of his cheeks. He kissed his shuttered eyelids. Finally, blinking slowly, head and heart heavy, Dimitri kissed the hands that had saved his life time and time again. Lips brushing Byleth’s knuckles, as the time they had left together dripped slowly out of Dimitri’s eyes—blood and tears mingling.

“Goodbye, Byleth.” He managed a small smile. “The rest is cold, and dark, and silent.”

He died then. Cradled in the arms of his messenger, his best friend, his lover. Byleth kissed his own knuckles, if only to pretend he could draw the warmth of Dimitri’s lips to his own.

“Now cracks a noble heart.” He brushed the golden hair off of Dimitri’s forehead, their tips dyed scarlet with his blood. Wiped away the blood and tears and sweat cooling on his skin.

“Goodnight, sweet prince.” He closed Dimitri’s eyes with a soft brush of his warm hands over his greying skin. Oh, how he wished he could give Dimitri some of that warmth just to see him use those lips again: to smile, to kiss him, to laugh out loud.

“And flights of angels sing you to rest.” He placed Areadbhar in his hands, and rested those over his chest. With his cloak he placed over him, tucking him into his eternal slumber. Before he pulled the fabric over his sleeping prince’s face, he planted a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Byleth left to meet the battle, his last glance at the man he still loved already taken.

**Author's Note:**

> holy fuuuuuuuuuck this was an ordeal to write. i legit sat down for four hours, wrote, got up to eat dinner, wrote for another two hours. god fucking damn my guys i hope you like it because i killed my back and fingers doing this today.
> 
> anyway i have been seeing parallels between dimitri and hamlet for aaages. we’re doing hamlet in school rn and i’m kind of obsessed with it so,, this was inevitable.
> 
> ANYWAY i hope you liked it hehehe im proud of it <3


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